Getting Home
by Entire Oranges
Summary: [takes place season one] Cuddy has to drive House home in the middle of the night.


Lisa Cuddy stares at him through the bars as he sleeps on what looked to be the most uncomfortable bench in existence. For a second she wondered how sleep would be possible there, before remembering it was House, who like always was remiss to the number of drinks and amount of alcohol which would be thought as too much. She takes a step to the side as the gentleman with the keys unlocks the cell while shouting for House to awake. House smiles as his eyes fall onto Cuddy standing in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt one size too large, his smiles only grew larger at the total disgust on her face.

"You came. Thanks mommy!" The officer raises his eyebrow in confusion.

"Shut it House! You owe me, god it's 3 in the fucking morning, you know that right?"

"Well it was nearly one when I got here, what took you so long? Hey can I have my cane?" The officer steps behind the lone desk of the small office/jail and retrieves what was asked for and tossed into the cell.

"Come on House let's go." Cuddy told him, turning towards the door head shaking.

They drive in silence down the highway. House thinks of saying sorry, but knew that Cuddy would instantly know he didn't mean it and that would only piss her off more. Not that he cared if she was pissed or that he was seeking forgiveness. He knew their histories separate and alone well enough to know after a few days (no more than four) all would be forgotten like an elusive sock in a dryer. Sometimes he wondered how she put up with him, after midnight calls, driving nearly 150 miles and for what in return? House knew he wouldn't owe her anything and knew Cuddy wouldn't ask again for payment or compensation.

"Red." He couldn't take the silence anymore.

"What?" She says softly, her voice used when not in the mood for games.

"You should dye your hair red. That would be hot." She blushes, slightly, House grins.

"Shut up."

"Cuckold. No one uses that term anymore. Which is a travesty! An absolute one. There should be a museum for lost words and cuckold should have a section all it's own."

"House, shut up or I swear to God I will drive this car into that upcoming semi truck."

Without looking Cuddy knows House is smiling devilishly as he kept talking, just saying words, extremely random words, egging and daring her. As the semi truck grew closer and closer Cuddy changes the lane, the lights of the truck bright and threating. Beeping of the horn echoes in the darkness, excited, frantic, and nearly jubilant, does nothing to her as she keeps on a straight path. Next to her House still speaking, eyes wide with excitement like a child home alone for the first time excitably digging through cupboards, drawers for any secrets. He doesn't think she has it in her, doesn't think she could ever do anything so reckless or deadly and she knows he is right. At the moment the rational part of her would yank the wheel to return to the correct lane Cuddy only grips tighter as she watches the semi make the move instead. Brakes squealing, the scent of burning rubber on tar and the sound of that jubilant horn. Now House stops, she turns to him to find eyes wide and is surprised to find hers wet.

"Jesus Christ Cuddy!" So much for the silence she thinks as pulling into the emergency lane.

Comforting someone was never House's thing, even when at seven finding his mother crying at the table over the news of her father's passing; he was unable and unwilling to give a hug. Instead he locked himself in his room, ignoring her and his father and soon they left him alone, chalking it up as his way of dealing with the loss. Here in this car there was no room to lock or hiding from Cuddy's soft sobs.

"I can't do this anymore." She speaks head towards the window.

"I could drive, I don't have my license right now, but I suppose I can find something to answer for if we get pulled over." House watches her shake her head. "We can't stay here all night." He is hung over as hell, in the need of at least five vicodins and simply no longer in the mood. Without saying a further word Cuddy restarts the engine pulling it back onto the road, driving as if nothing had happened. House finds himself quickly growing tired, nearly exhausted, unexceptionally like an attack from a blind assassin would be and closes his eyes.

"Promise not to kill me." He whispers before drifting off.

At the passing of the exit she had taken more times than she cared to recall Cuddy yells an obscenity while slamming her fist into the wheel, several times. Taking a glance into the rearview mirror she spots the police car that had been behind since three entrance ramps ago; not following or trailing them, but she knew an illegal u-turn would change that. Sure it was just a misdemeanor, if even that, she didn't care and just kept going on as if nothing had happened. House mutters, opens his eyes slowly and turns to his chauffeur and just smirks; even just awaking from sleep he could put together the pieces.

"Do what?" He asks.

"What?"

"Earlier before I fell asleep you said you couldn't do this anymore. I know damn well you weren't talking about the driving." She grips the wheel tighter, staring intently ahead. "Me?" House adds softly. At this Cuddy spares a moment to change focus and look at him her face blank of emotion. "Um Cuddy?" She nods as turning back. "You missed the exit again."

"Shit!"

"I can't see straight anymore, how pathetic is that?" House is able to determine though it was just him and her she wasn't speaking to him. "It's only 4:45 not that is considered early or anything! Not like haven't had slept in nearly twenty-four hours and driving 153 no wait make that 157 miles and counting in the middle of the damn night isn't dangerous in these conditions. Ok the exit is coming up I swear to God if I miss it a third time I will kill us."

"I have no doubt of that." House whispers tightening his seatbelt as a reflect reaction. As she singles the car over and successfully makes the exit they both sigh with relief for separate reasons. He isn't surprised when she pulls into the first parking lot they reach, a nearly empty Home Depot and stops the engine.

"Cuddy why?"

"Not now House."

"Why do you keep helping me? Over and over, despite the bridges and people I have burned, you still come running. You and Wilson always there when I call. Well almost always…." He trails off in an attempt to stop thinking of the bus, Amber and those memories.

"Because." She falls quiet placing her head against the window.

"I need to know." House reaches over and shakes her shoulder though she wasn't asleep. "Please tell me."

"The great Gregory House is capable of saying please." Cuddy mutters sarcastically eyes still closed.

"To mirror a question you asked me, God a few years ago I suppose, do you like me?" At this she opens her eyes turning to him.

"Of course I like you though I'd never admit this to anyone I consider you a friend. A strange, overally needy, severely fucked up friend."

"That's not what I meant. It takes more than a friend to cross nearly half a state to free said severely fucked up person. Which means you like me. Allot." Cuddy reaches for the keys resting in the ignition and jumps slightly as House stops her from turning them. "Not now."

"House it's late. And I'm really not in the mood."

"Rest, not for long, but you need to rest." Her own blind assassin was starting to attack. "Thank you, for everything." House adds softly as Cuddy begins to drop into slumber.

"I don't like you."

"Of course you don't." He replies with a smile.


End file.
